


Projectile

by lastinthebox



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, angst!lite, hurt/comfort!lite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 10:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2344532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastinthebox/pseuds/lastinthebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim never thought much about Bones. They were friends, hell, even roommates. But it wasn’t like the bitter, crazy doctor from Georgia dominated his thoughts or anything. Jim had invested a lot of time into being the top of his class and in a different bed every other night, and maintaining that chip on his shoulder felt like a career already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Projectile

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd! Any mistakes are mine.

Jim never thought much about Bones. They were friends, hell, even roommates. But it wasn’t as if the bitter, crazy doctor from Georgia dominated his thoughts or anything. Jim had invested a lot of time into being the top of his class and in a different bed every other night, and maintaining that chip on his shoulder felt like a career already.

 

So when they went to the beach on leave, he never noticed Bones never took his shirt off. Because, really, why would he notice something like that, anyway?

 

 

::

 

“You got rocked, man,” Jim said. “You just not with it this morning or what?”

 

Bones grumbled something under his breath, probably withering and horrible if Jim could only hear it over the cadets in the gym. He watched as Bones took the boxing wraps off his knuckles and sit down with a shallow sigh. The man was pouring sweat and red in the face and hunched over, and Jim might not be a doctor, but he could recognize the signs when someone was guarding an injury.

 

“How bad did you get hit, Bones?”

 

“I’m fine,” Bones barked.

 

“Bullshit. If you’re fine, then you can sit up straight no problem, right?” Jim snapped back. He took a seat by his friend and leaned over to look the stubborn ass in the eye. “You need to practice keeping your hands up, Bones. Your left side, isn’t it? Let me see.”

 

“Jim, drop it. I’m just trying to catch my damn breath. I’m fine.”

 

 

::

 

The first time they messed around was after Nero’s bullshit.

 

Jim didn’t remember much of that night, only fragments like lights flashing on and off in his mind. He could recall stumbling around the streets of San Francisco with a huge group that dwindled with the hours until it was just him and Bones hanging off each other like drunken fools, which, well, was exactly what they were.

 

They staggered into their dorm room eventually. He could remember the feeling of Bones’ damp hair between his fingers and noticing, for the first time, the freckles dusting his cheeks, and being fucking floored by it, for a reason he still couldn’t explain. He could remember the twist of soft cotton in his hands as he slid into heat. He could remember the warmth of Bones’ shirt and the cool on his skin as he moved with the other man.

 

He never remembered why they turned the lights off. He could remember Bones saying something about it, but it’d been months and it never happened again. The memory escaped him.

 

 

::

 

Bones didn’t really invite him, but Jim had been staying at his apartment since he’d been released from the hospital. Bones never said anything about his captain crashing on his sofa, and Jim never said anything about his CMO foregoing sleep to work at the hospital. Jim had company and Bones a peace of mind. The routine was comfortable. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked.

 

Bones would work all night and come home mid-morning, and by that time, Jim would be gone or on his way out. So the time he stumbled through the dark into the head to take a piss, he was startled silent when he saw Bones already at the sink.

 

He was bent over at the waist in just his black trousers and boots, head hung low, white-knuckling the counter. His whole body tensed when Jim announced his presence with a cough, and he leaned away before pushing himself upright.

 

“Sorry, I’ll get out of your way,” he said roughly.

 

He took a step forward into the light.

 

“It’s your house, man. You okay?”

 

“Bad shift.”

 

“You want to talk about it?” Jim asked, taking another step closer.

 

Bones shook his head, scrubbed at his face, and looked at him in the bright light. The haunted look in his eyes chilled Jim to the bone. And it followed him into his dreams when he was finally able to fall back to a restless sleep.

 

 

::

 

The time he _got it_ was that same morning. Jim woke to the sound of the patio door shutting with a soft hiss. He could just make out the silhouette on the patio through the glass, a dark shape against the bruised morning sky. He took the time to replicate a couple cups of coffee and throw on a sweater before heading out to the deck.

 

Bones was in much the same position Jim found him in the head earlier, still half-dressed in his trousers and braced against the railing like it was the only thing keeping him from drifting off into space. There was a bottle at his booted feet, hardly touched. Jim stepped up to the railing, forced the cup into Bones’ hands.

 

And that was when Jim finally saw. Bones’ upper back was a map of scarred tissue in a way Jim had never seen except for in centuries’ old medical texts on field trauma. He could just make out the beginnings of a jagged mess of raised pink flesh on the other man’s left pectoral. Bones didn’t move away when he reached out to touch the scar, leaning into him when Jim let his hand rest on his shoulder, the other man’s skin cool and damp in the early morning weather. “When did this happen?”

 

“It was a long time ago.” Bones’ voice was gruff. “And no, I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.”

 

“Maybe some time, though?” Jim asked, moving his hand up until he’s cupping the back of Bones’ neck, away from the scars and the things he’d been blind or stupid to see for too many years.

 

“Maybe.” And Bones’ lips quirked into something resembling a smile, and damn if it didn’t take Jim’s breath away.

**Author's Note:**

> First posted as comment!fic on lj's jim_and_bones community summer 2013.


End file.
